Haunted
by I hart Booth
Summary: A fic about the things we love, the things we can't change, and the ones who help us through it all. BB but completely nontraditional.
1. The One Promise She Ever Broke

**Summary: They shared a bond stronger than friendship. Stronger than romance and love. It was a partnership of the souls and now that one piece is missing, the other is left to question his sanity and the validity of life without her. BB but _completely_ non-trad. For all you angst addicts and anyone else who's strong enough to take it. **

**A/N:Thanks for giving this a shot, hope you stick around.**

Prologue

"_When I'm chasing a suspect, I don't need to be worrying about you and where you are and if you're safe.." Booth nearly shouted, hands on his hips as he paced the far side of Brennan's office. _

"_Then don't! How many times do I have to tell you I can take care of myself Booth? Do you want me to tell you in Latin? Ego validus tutela meus." Her cheeks flushed as she slammed a file down onto her desk. Obviously pretending she was busy wasn't going to get rid of him this time. _

"_I know that Bones, I know better than anyone how well you can take care of yourself, but I don't have the luxury of just leaving you to your own devices. When we're outside this lab, you're my partner, but you're also my friend and my charge." He pointed one long finger at her in a gesture meant to make a point, but only made her more defensive._

_Her mouth dropped. "You're charge?!" She couldn't decide which of his body parts she wanted to kick most and folded her arms to prevent herself from launching one of the many heavy artifacts surrounding her desk in his general, pig-headed direction._

_Outside Zach, Hodgins, Angela and Cam exchanged raised-eyebrow glances over lab equipment, taking bets on which of the partners was going to come out of this one alive. _

_Booth rubbed his face, growing more exasperated and frustrated by the moment. Keeping his temper in check was a lost cause at this point. It usually was when he dealt with his stubborn, arrogant, over-eager partner. "Yes, my charge. My responsibility and it's my _job_ to worry about whether or not you've tripped in these ridiculous heels or if you're being mauled by a bear or if you've turned that cannon around and are firing it at things, including yourself or me. So if a suspect takes off I need you to stay behind where it's safe and where you can apprehend them if they come back or call for backup if we need it."_

"_If I were your FBI agent partner would you make me stay behind?" She jutted out her chin, defiantly challenging him to answer, since there was really no good way to answer that question, which she knew perfectly well._

_"You're not FBI, Temperance, you're a scientist. A brilliant, amazing, one-of-a-kind forensic anthropologist, not a trained government approved agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Does that answer your question?" He saw disbelief and anger vying for dominance on her face and made a conscious effort to stop yelling. "I'm not making you do anything. I've known you long enough to recognize no one can make you do anything you don't want to." He continued, feeling a bit calmer as she sat huffily in her chair, signaling the argument was winding down. Hopefully, he was winning. "So I'm asking, for both our sakes, that you not take off down dark alleys or into thick woods after me when I'm pursing a suspect."_

_She cast her eyes downward and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Weighing the pros and cons of the situation. He moved slowly across the office, frowning as he asked quietly, "Bones?"_

"_Rat bastard." She accused softly, shaking her head._

_Booth looked at the ceiling and sighed. Rubbing his hands across his face once more, he sat down in the chair across her desk and leaned forward. "Promise me, Temperance."_

_After a long, pregnant pause, during which he wondered if she had decided to take a vow of silence or if she was simply refusing to answer unless he changed the question, she did finally look up. With a look in her eye that made him a bit uneasy, she straightened in her chair and muttered her reply. _

"_I promise." _

**This is only the first chap, it sets up the rest so as long as somebody wants it, I think I'm up for posting s'more.**


	2. One Helluva Hangover

**I'd almost forgotten how much I love reviews. Well, here's the next chap. I'll try to post regularly, but I can't promise anything. Again, thanks to everyone for giving this a shot and I do hope you enjoy it. From here on out the chapters will begin with a few lines from _John Mayer 'Dreaming With a Broken Heart'_ if that gives you any indication to where this story is going. _Loony_...I love you sweetie, but, I'm giving you my Fluff Club Membership Card (yes, i do in fact still have it) now so you won't have to take it from me later...

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**_When you're dreaming with a broken heart  
The waking up is the hardest part _**

Why, Booth wondered, as the smell of his own cologne and a mixture of smoke and beer inflamed his nostrils, was there an angry two-headed chimpanzee trying to clobber it's way out of his brain?

Why, he questioned, as the morning sun filtered in his bedroom window and burned at his eyelids, did every muscle in his body feel as if he'd chosen to climb up the side of his apartment building spiderman-style last night, when he was nearly positive he'd taken the elevator?

Why, he inquired, as he groaned loudly and attempted to turn over in his bed of mangled sheets and wads of clothing, did it seem that his memory of the night before ended somewhere between his SUV and the front door of Wayside Bar?

And why the _hell_, he asked himself, as his eyes popped open and the hair on the back of his neck bristled, did he have the distinct feeling that he was not alone?

Cautious and as alert as his hungover mind would allow, he turned over onto his side. Peering over a mound of covers and a caseless pillow, he saw the other side of the bed...with a body in it. He blinked a few times and made a quick pass at rubbing his eyes, attempting to wake himself further and figure out what exactly had happened the night before.

First things first, where were his gun and badge? Not finding an answer in his memory, he took to scanning the bedroom and found the items lying carelessly on the floor near his dresser. He also saw a pair of black bra and panties, his own dress shirt and least favorite tie. A skin tight red dress that, if memory served (and lets be honest, it didn't really) was quite the bitch when trying to unzip, his pants, his watch and one black stiletto sandal.

Next priority, was she alive? A quick glance at her ample breasts, rising and falling beneath his navy blue sheets confirmed that she was. His eyes traveled up her pale arms, across perfect porcelain shoulders and up to her head, where he was quite disappointed to find overflowing locks of dark brown hair, with purple streaks.

He closed his eyes and fell back against the bed, banging his head against the wall in the process. Biting back a cry of pain, he brought his hands up to his face and sighed. The next priority would have been to figure out why he couldn't remember what he'd done last night, but it didn't take a genius IQ to figure that out anyway.

Slow and sluggish, he beckoned his body from the bed and sleepily gathered his gun, badge and cell phone, preparing to lock himself in the bathroom and hope whats-her-name would wake up and leave before he got out. On a second thought, he grabbed his wallet too, along with a towel and went into the bathroom. He obviously didn't know this girl, but she was pretty much welcome to anything else she could find in the apartment, should she feel inclined to rob him.

The headache worsened but he ignored it, stepping inside the warm shower and stretching to loosen his muscles.

It was always unexpected, and caught him off guard so that he wasn't prepared. It knocked the wind out of him and left him breathless for a few moments, like a cutting insult from a good friend. He was halfway through his shower before it hit him this time, and it felt like a literal ton of bricks. He gasped for air and began backing up, as if he could run from the pain that was attempting to cripple him. He slammed up against the cold tile wall and slid down it as his legs failed beneath him. Salty tears mixed with the hot water as it beat against his face and chest and in the back of his mind he thought he heard the front door shut.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes, attempting to find the strength to breathe as the four most excruciating words he'd ever heard repeated themselves over and over in his mind, torturing him until he could feel madness teetering on the edge of his control.

_I could lose her. _

**Feel free to be upset about what you just read, I promise you it's only the beginning. All of you who read my April stories, remember that Angst Train I talked about? Care for another trip?**


	3. So Far Beyond Insane

**I'm so glad you guys are all on board (albeit unwillingly) the Angst Train, it would be a lonely ride without you. I meant to add this to the last chap, but forgot. I havent posted this yet on the Anti-Boneyard, but I plan to eventually. So, in return for being just a tad lazy, I'm shamelessly promoting my BFFFFF Willgurl (luvya 4eva!) and her SUPER awesome Bones message board. There's all kinds of crazy discussions and fanfic and links and spoilers and you all have to go check it out. I'm pretty sure you can find it if you google Anti Boneyard, or Willie has a link in her profile, and she's on my Favorite Authors list, so you can find her easy. Anyway, that's my plug, now here's the show.

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_**You roll out of bed and down on your knees  
and for a moment you can hardly breathe**_

Booth took a few long, deep breaths as he stared at himself in the mirror. Perhaps 'stared' wasn't the right word, it implied active thought processing about what he was seeing. If he had been 'staring', he would have seen dark circles and red eyes, worry lines and pursed lips…if he had been staring. In actuality he was just facing the mirror, looking past his reflection, lost in non-thought.

It was only when he was in non-thought that his chest didn't feel tight and hot, as if it were about to explode. It was only then that he didn't feel inadequate and guilty and have the inexplicable urge to punch large lifeless objects. In non-thought, he didn't feel anything, and it was a welcome relief.

After a few minutes the air moving through the vents in the walls and under the crack of the door began blowing across his moist skin, causing him to shiver and bring him back to life. Quickly toweling off, he opened the door and moved into his bedroom and was pleased to find it empty, apparently what's-her-name had gone. Pulling on his underwear, he caught a glimpse of something behind him in his dresser mirror.

Reflexively, he reached for his .20 in the top dresser drawer and spun around, taking aim at the figure sitting in the chair beside his bedroom window.

"I think you'll find that highly ineffective in this particular instance, Booth."

It wasn't her. That was impossible.

But it certainly did look like her. Everything from her mother's earrings to her rich, dark auburn hair. The dolphin belt buckle to her favorite jeans, she even wore the ring her father gave her around her neck and he could almost smell her lightly flowery shampoo. She was sitting the way she often did, legs crossed, hands clasped in her lap as she stared at him, most likely reading his thoughts. Yes, it certainly looked like her, but it definitely, positively, was _not her_.

Jaw still on the floor, he stood down from his defensive position and puzzled at his gun, as if the small firearm were responsible for the obvious mirage before him. When the gun yielded no answers, he set it aside and rubbed his eyes. Blinking hard, he tentatively turned his eyes back over to the chair in the corner, and this time stumbled backward a bit, ramming his spine into the cold metal handles of his chest of drawers.

She was still there.

Frowning, Booth closed his eyes again, shaking his head as he muttered to himself and hurriedly began rummaging through his drawers for clothes.

"…drank more than I thought…going insane…need to do laundry…"

"If I were to go strictly by my own observations, I'd say you drank precisely as much as you think you drank, I'm pretty sure you aren't insane but, seeing as there's clothes tossed in every corner of this room, I've come to the conclusion that doing laundry should definitely be one of your top priorities."

Booth was midway through buttoning his shirt and stopped cold. She sounded just like her too. He kept his eyes trained on her delicate form as tucked in his shirt and zipped his jeans.

Frowning deeply, he walked across his decimated bedroom and stood before her. She looked up at him, blue eyes all open and honest and she smiled. Well, now he knew it wasn't her. No matter what she looked or sounded like. She hardly ever smiled at him that way.

"Confused?" She teased softly. Booth tilted his head slightly and tentatively reached out to touch her, but stopped just short of her cheek, afraid of what he might find if he actually went through with the action.

Her smile turned a bit more sympathetic and she nodded, rising from her chair and moving past him toward the dresser, where she began studying carefully the pictures he had displayed there.

"Parker. Angela and Jack. Me, another of Parker. Who's this?" She turned to him, pointing at one of the photos displayed in a faux wood frame.

"My parents and Jared." He knew he'd answered, but his voice didn't sound like his own and he glanced at the bed, just to see if he was still lying there and this would all turn out to be a dream. The bed was empty thugh. He pinched himself too, but that only succeeded in making him feel like an idiot.

Finally, when she started to reach for his gun, he spoke up.

"Bones? What's going on?" He ventured, his voice full of confusion and he frowned, still a bit dazed from his late night.

"I'm surprised you aren't at my bedside." She said, ignoring his question and studying a gold pocket watch from the little table by his bed. The name Garrett Booth was engraved on the inside. "I would've thought it would take four large men and a shovel to get you out of the hospital."

Booth frowned again, walking around the bed and pulling his grandfather's watch from her hands.

"Have you _met_ Angela?" He asked sarcastically, deciding that, since he was apparently certifiable and having conversations with imaginary images of his partner, he might as well finish getting dressed. It wasn't as if there was anything he could do about it right then, besides the chimp was back and was trying to find a back door out his temporal lobe.

"I suppose she can be rather persuasive."

Booth hummed in response and went about finishing his morning routine. He quickly pulled on a pair of socks and shoes, thought about doing something with his hair, but decided against it. His hair was the least of his worries at this point, all he wanted to do was make himself presentable and get back to the hospital. He went out into the kitchen and then the living room, searching for his wallet, keys and some maximum strength Tylenol.

"Where are you going?"

"To the hospital." He responded, a little disturbed by how natural it felt to be talking to an imaginary person.

"But I'm right here."

"No. You're not."

He could hear the tension rising in her voice and matched it with his own. At first he'd been content to let this apparition, or whatever it was, be around. It was nice to have some company. But now he was becoming a bit more awake and his hangover wearing off, he realized just how crazy this all was.

Brennan, his partner, his Bones, was in a hospital bed fighting for her life halfway across town, and yet here he was, having an argument with her right here in his living room. Surrealism had never been one of his favorite things and this was all getting a little too weird. He could feel his heart speeding up as his senses told him she was moving toward him again. Studiously avoiding looking in her direction, he dashed towards his kitchen and to grab a cup of coffee. Maybe the caffinated miracle in a Styrofoam cup would help him be rid of this…vision.

"Booth."

He stopped short at the counter and began fumbling with the coffee filter. He could've cursed himself for his shaking hands, but instead chose to mumble to himself in hopes of clearing his mind.

"Booth."

"Not real…Way too stressed out Seeley…imagining things…should've never left the hospital in the first place."

He finished making the coffee and waited while the maker gurgled to life, his palms down on the counter as he stared at his travel mug. It was then that he noticed the footsteps and the voice had stopped. He closed his eyes and sighed in relief.

Of course it had stopped. He wasn't crazy or anything. His mug filled with coffee and he pulled sugar from the jar, pouring a generous amount into his mug before twisting on the cap. With a deep breath, he shook his head slightly at himself and took a tentative sip, hissing as the hot liquid burned the tip of his tongue.

He turned around to lean against the counter, unconsciously holding his breath lest his little visitor be somewhere nearby. Thankfully, he found himself alone and let out the breath in a long low whistle.

"That was weird." He muttered to himself, squinting his eyes as he took another sip, this one less painful than the first.

A voice to his right made him stop mid-sip and nearly choke on the coffee already on it's way down.

"You're telling me."

_**Confused? Tell me if you are and I'll try to clarify in the A/N for the next chap. Remember I love reviews, so if you feel so inclined...do tell! Again, PLEASE check out the ABY (Anti Boneyard) You won't regret it I promise! Again, thanks for all the wonderful, fabulous, mindblowing reviews last time, I really don't deserve you guys.**_


	4. Gone, But Not Really

**Glad to see not too many of you are confused. A lot of you referenced a movie, which I apologize because I haven't seen it, but whatever works for you. Despite the explanation given in this chap, I honestly haven't truly decided if Brennan is Brennan or Brennan is Booth's imagination, but I think it's a little of both. So, on with the show and I do hope to hear from you again, I know I'm not the best (nowhere near in fact) at responding to your reviews, but I do read each and every one of them and they truly do brighten my day.

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**_Wondering was she really here  
Is she standing in my room?_ **

Booth stared at his partner, seemingly in his apartment, sitting on the counter beside him. Closing his eyes, he took another deep breath.

"Okay, what's going on here?" He said finally, pulling away from the counter to look at her. "Am I dreaming?"

Brennan studied his face for a moment and seemed to take pity on him, because she dropped down off the counter and folded her arms, her typical stance for divulging information.

"No, you're not dreaming."

She stopped, so he continued. "Are you…a ghost?" While the sane man in him screamed at him to stop talking to someone who wasn't there, hell, to stop seeing her for that matter, the investigator in him just wouldn't let it go.

"No, ghosts are mythical creatures Booth, supposed spirits trapped between heaven and hell. Besides, I'm not dead."

"Am I?"

She smiled a bit at this, and in spite of the situation, he found it putting him at ease.

"No, you're not dead either."

With a sigh, he put aside his coffee. "Then what's going on? Why are you here? Are you real?"

She seemed unperturbed by his barrage of questions, her smile remaining calm and focused.

"I'm as real as everything inside your head. If I were to have to guess, which I think I do given that your mental capacities aren't functioning at their full potential," Booth's eyebrows shot up but she continued smoothly, "I would say that I'm an imagined physical manifestation of your conscious thoughts based on high stress and a preoccupation with my well-being."

Booth stared at her for a moment and then nodded slowly. "So…what you're saying is that…you're not real."

"No, what I'm saying is that only you can see me. I'm essentially your imagination come to life. Like an imaginary friend…like God!" She exclaimed, excited to seemingly have found an appropriate analogy. Booth gave her an exasperated sigh, as he often did when he felt she was being disrespectful toward his beliefs, and started to move toward the door.

"Now where are you going?" She asked, sounding irritated.

Booth didn't bother looking back, insane or not, he was going to that hospital to be with his partner. "The same place I was going before."

"The hospital?"

"Yup." He reached for his coat hanging on a chair in the living room and patted his pockets for his keys.

"But why Booth?"

He opened the door and started down the hallway. "Because you're there. It's where I need to be."

"Again, I ask you, why? Are you a doctor or a surgeon? Have you suddenly gained some expertise in cranial trauma that I don't know about?" She was following him now, although she hadn't grabbed a coat, and he thought to himself that she would be cold without it, before he realized how crazy that sounded and dismissed it.

"I'm not going to be cold Booth."

He stopped and did an about-face, staring her straight in the eyes with his hands on his hips. "I didn't say anything about you being cold."

She reached up and tapped his temple. "In your head remember?"

He narrowed his eyes but didn't respond, instead lost in an uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu. Standing toe to toe with her this way, it almost made him shudder how much he missed old times.

Sadness crossed her eyes and her chin dipped a bit.

"I miss those times too."

Pursing his lips, he turned and headed down the stairs again. It felt like she was really there, too much like she was really there with him, and it was starting to hurt.

"You never answered my question, why are you here?" He called over his shoulder. She was hot on his heels.

"Why are you going to the hospital?"

"Because it's where I need to be." He said finally bursting through the door to his complex and closing his eyes to a gush of cold October air.

He felt her come and stand beside him, but couldn't remember if he heard the door open again or not.

"Same for me." She turned to look at him but he pretended not to see. "This is where I need to be."

**Okay so, I realize these chapters are short, but I hope you will forgive that. And don't forget to go check out the Anti Boneyard!**


	5. The Anthropologist Within

**The reviews for this fic are so enthusiastic, it definitly keeps me motivated to keep posting. This chapter answers quite a lot of questions as far as the 'what happened to Brennan' thing. Oh, and when Brennan speaks, only Booth can hear it, so to avoid confusion her speech is in** _italics_**. M'kay?

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**_No, she's not  
cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone. _**

Booth had grown accustomed to her presence in long car ride to the hospital, though they'd barely talked. And he couldn't help but think that was a good thing. The less he talked to the imaginary image of his partner, the better in his book.

It _had_ been a bit awkward though, in the elevator with the soccer mom and her teenage son. The boy was decked out in black from head to toe, a green Mohawk and more facial hardware than found in aisle 7 of Home Depot. As it was he would have been fine with Goth Boy and Mom, but the running commentary in his ear about the anthropological significance of rebellion among adolescents made the seven-floor elevator ride anything but comfortable.

And she whispered the whole time, for God's sake, as if _anyone_ else could hear her.

He knocked on the large wood door and poked his head inside. Angela heard and sat up from her slumped position in a chair beside the bed, quickly smoothing her hair and plastering a small smile on her face. Then she saw who was there and slumped over again.

"Oh, hi Booth." She said, yawning.

"Don't get all gussied up on account of me." He teased quietly, coming over to stand beside her.

Angela sent him a small smile, but he didn't really see, his eyes already trained on Bones' sleeping, comatose body in the bed, where she'd been for the past three weeks with a gunshot wound to the head. She seemed pale, far more than usual which was saying something. Her dark hair wasn't pulled aside, no doubt irritating her neck, since he knew she hated the feeling of hair being pressed against the back of her neck. The thin sheet seemed to him, not to be enough to keep her warm in this freezing cold hospital room and as always, the many IVs and monitors surrounding the head of the bed did anything but put him at ease.

"I didn't mean anything. I thought you were Jack. That's all." She said by way of whispered explanation.

_"I can't actually hear you guys you know, you don't have to whisper." _

Booth's eyes snapped over to the door, where Brennan was leaning against the wall, staring at them.

"J-Jack's not um, here?" He said, stuttering a bit as his exhausted and overworked mind attempted to distinguish between his imagination and reality.

Angela shook her head, oblivious to Booth's discomfort. "No, he and Zach have court today. The attorney had to threaten to come here and get him before he would leave."

Booth nodded, his eyes flickering toward the dark haired artist before returning to his partner and the large, ugly bandage wrapped around her head.

"He's worried about you." He said quietly.

"I know, and **I'm** worried about **her**." She said, tears thick in her voice as she reached through the guardrail on the side of the bed and took her friends limp hand. Booth blinked back tears in his own eyes and laid a comforting hand on Angela's shoulder. Inherently, the two had become united with the common pain and worry for Brennan's well being.

_"I'm sorry this is so hard for the two of you."_ Brennan had moved across the room and came to sit in one of the well-worn purple chairs on the other side of the bed. Booth couldn't help but watch her for a moment as she sat. The way she was, pale and sick in the bed, side by side with his imagination run amuck, a vision of his partner as he would always remember her. Vibrant.

"Have you heard anything from the doctors yet?" He said after a moment.

Angela shook her head, dropping her chin to her chest, only to bring it up again a few minutes later, her eyes dry and bottom lip no longer trembling.

"No. Russ went with them a few minutes ago."

Booth pulled up a chair beside Angela and picked up an anthropology journal Zach had brought earlier. Per his usual routine, he began reading aloud, arbitrarily skipping words he was sure he couldn't pronounce and Angela dozed slightly in the chair beside him, obviously having been sleep deprived for several days.

"Hey you two."

Russ appeared in the room and Booth stopped reading. Angela sat forward, rubbing her face and biting her lip. Between them they had enough intuition to predict the future with disturbing accuracy, and both could sense that Russ was about to deliver bad news. Booth watched him take a spot near the head of the bed, gently touching his sister's cheek before pushing both hands into his pockets. In the corner of his eye he could see Brennan folding her arms, taking her queue from him and Angela that something was wrong.

"I spoke with the doctors." Russ said, standing stiffly and tense, eyes searching his sister's face for any changes. But as always, a steadily beeping heart monitor was the only affirmation of life.

"What'd they say?" Angela asked, anxious from Russ' stingy information sharing. Under the bed she reached for Booth's hand. He could feel her pulse racing under her skin and squeezed it reassuringly, if for no other reason than because he too, wanted to believe everything would be alright.

Russ cleared his throat and Booth could tell he was struggling with bringing words forth.

"Hey," He said quietly, causing Russ to meet his eyes. "You alright?"

He nodded, quickly looking away and Booth knew it wasn't the truth. "They, um, they said, there's nothing…they can do." He stopped abruptly as his voice cracked and Booth could hear Angela attempting to cover her sobs with a hand at her mouth. For himself, he could feel his chest burning, but it was probably because he hadn't breathed since Russ entered the room.

Squeezing Angela's shoulder, he waited for Russ to continue.

"They said, um, they don't know how she's…still hanging on, and um, there's no way to know how long it'll last."

Booth licked his lips, and took a deep breath, but the burning in his chest, thought to be from lack of oxygen, seemed to have turned into something else. Something a lot more violent.

"So that's it? You're just going to give up and wait for her to die?!" He snapped, raising his voice much higher than needed.

Russ seemed taken aback but only for a moment. "I don't like it any better than you do, Booth, but what do you want me to do? I'm not a surgeon it's not like I can go in there and get the bullet myself!"

"Then find a doctor who can! You can't just let this happen Russ. Get a second opinion. And if that doesn't work get a third and a fourth. We have to save her. I can't…I can't…" He stopped when he felt a hand on his arm and turned, expecting to find Angela, and instead found _her_.

"_Stop Booth_." Her eyes were big and glassy, and it made him want to pull her into him and hug her for all she was worth. Instead, he dropped his eyes to the floor and he felt her squeeze his arm again. "_There's nothing anyone can do. Washington Memorial has the best Head Trauma and Brain Surgeon team in the country. You know that_."

He did know that. He'd done his googling.

Russ turned to leave the room to go call his father and let him know the news. Before leaving he reached up and patted Booth's shoulder. He knew the bond between his sister and the Agent was a strong one, the kind people waited lifetimes for, and he didn't envy the long battle the man had ahead of him.

Russ left and Booth turned, crossing the room to look out the window. Losing himself in non-thought for a few moments, he tried to relax, his tension headache was already returning, though not with the vengeance his hangover had given him the night before. Outside, three floors below a brown squirrel scurried around a small courtyard between buildings. The leafs were mostly brown and had fallen from the trees, but he kept running from spot to spot burying nuts for spring. Booth thought for a moment that he was a bit jealous of the carefree little guy, he probably never had to worry about his partner dieing from a gunshot wound to the brain.

_"I'm quite sure the squirrel never had a crime solving partner with three Doctorates and a black belt before either." _

Booth barely cracked a smile at Brennan's words and shook his head slightly as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

"I go back to work next Monday."

He started a bit at the sound of a voice that wasn't in his head, and turned around to find Angela fluffing Brennan's pillows.

"Ange, you don't have to. I'm sure Cam would give…"

"It has nothing to do with Cam. It has to do with Bren." She paused for a moment, pushing a lock of limp hair off her forehead before closing her eyes and turning to Booth. "She wouldn't want our work to stop just because she's not there. It's important to her, identifying the dead. Helping them find their way back to their families, it's what she'd want us to be doing."

Russ returned and sat on a couch near the wall, eyes shut but quite obviously not sleeping. His knuckles were white as he clasped his hands into tight fists.

Booth took a moment to study his partner where she lay in the bed. Helpless and vulnerable, two things she'd never been, worked hard in hopes that she would never be them, and here she was. He looked at the floor.

"I'm going back Monday too. I just wish I'd had the satisfaction of shooting the son of a bitch that did this to her." He ground his teeth at the thought of the sniper on a nearby building having that honor back at the crime scene. And he felt his heart quicken when he remembered running toward her and watching her fall to the ground, knowing it had all been in vain.

Angela returned to sitting by the bed, lost in thought, and Booth, staring at the floor, didn't notice his Bones walking toward him. She stopped and waited for him to look up, pain and regret like she'd never known before playing out like a tragic melody in his eyes.

"_No you don't Booth_." She blinked and the smallest of smiles moved across her lips, "_But I appreciate the sentiment_."

Booth had to look away to keep from smiling back. Only Bones could make him laugh at a time like this. With a slight nod to acknowledge her, he moved to sit the other seat on the other side of Brennan's bed, ready for another long day of prayer and hope.

**Okay, I edited this one to death, was it enough?**


	6. Dealing, Not Healing

**Once again, thanks for the amazing, magnificent reviews. And I do so hope you guys know what you've gotten into on this angsty little train ride...aw hell, I hope _I_ know what I've gotten into!

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**_When you're dreaming with a broken heart  
The giving up is the hardest part _**

Booth stayed at the hospital that night to give Angela and Russ a chance to go home and sleep. It wasn't really that bad either, with his imaginary Brennan there to keep him company. Especially since she didn't seem to mind his spending long hours with his head bowed low in prayer. Even if she hadn't been inside his head, he was sure she knew what he was praying for, and maybe, just maybe, she was praying for it too.

The next night Angela stayed again, so that Russ could stay the following night and allow both Angela and Booth to get some rest before returning to work bright and early Monday morning.

It was Russ' night tonight, but Booth was doing anything but resting. Brennan was trying to convince him going out and getting smashed was not the right way to deal with his, well she called it 'depression', but he called it coping.

"You shouldn't go in there." She said, giving a partly frowning, partly pouting look to the front door of a crowded bar.

Booth sat in the darkened SUV with his hands on the steering wheel, also staring at the front door of the bar but with a slightly more contemplative look.

"I know." He said simply but made no move to start the car and leave.

She shifted her gaze between him and the doors several times before speaking again.

"Then…why are we still here?"

Booth sighed deeply, dropping his hands and laying his head back on the headrest.

"Because I really want to go in."

"Why? So you can get drunk, pick up some woman and have sex with her and then not remember any of it tomorrow morning?"

Her tone was accusatory, if not downright condescending, but he didn't flinch. She wasn't wrong.

"Don't get so worked up Bones. We all have our ways of dealing. You work, I drink."

"Booth what are you talking about? Dealing? You're gambling too?" She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression just begging for a fight.

"No Bones, dealing. Coping. Finding a way to get through everyday without pulling out my gun and shooting myself." He sat forward, leaning toward her. His tone that of a desperate, angry man teetering on the verge of a break, "You think it's easy for me to spend every day, all day, sitting there looking at you? Watching you die? Do you think knowing that I will probably never be able so see your smile again isn't tearing me up inside? Because you're wrong." He could feel tears burning at his eyes but he kept them at bay, instead watching the ones burning behind hers. She opened her mouth like she wanted to speak, but nothing came.

"I go out and get black out drunk every night because it's the only thing I know how to do. The only way I know that when I close my eyes at night I won't wake up fifteen times because I can't breathe, the thought of losing you literally makes it so that I can't breathe, Bones. I have sex with some nameless woman every night because it's the only thing that even comes _close_ to feeling okay. And it's a hell of a lot more relaxing than spending all night at the shooting range."

She barely blinked, his harsh words and tone stunning her into silence and he couldn't bare the hurt expression on her face. As soon as he stopped speaking he turned away, lips pursed in a hard line as he started the car, threw it into gear and peeled out of the parking lot.

He could feel her looking at him, wanting to say something but not knowing what. So she turned away to stare out the window and they were silent the whole way home.

Later that night they sat out on his balcony overlooking the city. While Bones always managed to get the nice hotel room when they were working a case out of state, the view from his apartment balcony had always trumped hers.

"You go back to work tomorrow right?" She asked quietly, leaning against the balcony rail. He nodded. "That's good. It'll be good for you."

"Yeah, well." He dismissed the thought with a shrug of his shoulder and studied the horizon where the sky was turning a sort of unearthly gray. Dawn.

Just like he'd warned her, he had woken several times during the night in a cold sweat and her name caught in his throat. After a while he'd given up on the whole business, grabbed a beer and settled himself out on the balcony to wait for morning.

And that's where they sat as they ushered in the dawn, Booth working on his beer and Brennan studying the last of the stars. As always, he found her presence comforting, whether or not she was in his head, whether or not she was the real thing, on a night like tonight, she was close enough.

"You promised." Booth said, his voice surprising them both. She leaned against the balcony, nighttime breezes blowing her hair in and out of her face. "You promised you would stay in the car. Be safe." He whispered softly and he wasn't sure if the accusing undertone was meant for himself or her, but he wasn't sure he cared anymore either. It didn't really matter.

She turned to look at him and met his troubled gaze steadily. The moonlight glinted against the blue ring on her necklace and her mother's earrings caressed her slender neck as she turned. He waited patiently for her to respond and she didn't disappoint. Pursing her lips, she shook her head slightly.

"I know, Booth. I'm sorry."

Booth nodded and looked away. Finishing his drink, he leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. The first rays of sunrise began to kiss the horizon.

"Me too, Bones."

**Just a filler chap, but feel free to poke the button anyway.**


	7. Moving On, Without the Moving Part

**Kinda busy with the holiday and all, but here's a short little (not redundant at all, lol) chap to keep you going.

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**

_**She takes you in with her crying eyes  
then all at once you have to say goodbye**_

Booth hesitated only a moment as he pulled his ID card from his pocket and moved up to the scanner beside the lab platform stairs. He closed his eyes briefly to prepare himself for what he wouldn't find when he arrived, namely, one stubborn, smart-assed, brillant, gorgeous female forensic anthropologist.

He'd been a desk duty all of yesterday, catching up on forms and paperwork he'd gotten behind on while at the hospital. Early that morning he'd gotten a case and spent most of the day at the Jeffersonian, that is, until he got into it with Hodgins over one of his 'conjecture filled theories' and decided to take a break with some pie when he had a disagreement with one of the microscopes that would inevitably lead to a sizable bill to the bureau and a meeting with Cullen.

He knew it wasn't any of the squints' fault Bones wasn't there with him, the way she was supposed to be, but that didn't change the fact that every time he had to go up onto the platform and she wasn't there, he felt like the world was crumbling beneathe him.

_Buck up Ranger._

An electronic beep announced his entrance and Hodgins and Cam turned to watch him approach, Zach was already bent over a foul smelling, decomposing skeleton displayed on the table.

Hodgins immediately moved to the other side of the table, putting some distance between himself and the armed agent, while Cam greeted him.

"Hey Seeley, how are you doing?" Cam asked, studying him carefully, albeit obviously, as he came to a stop near the exam table.

Booth gave her a distracted glance before his eyes fell back to the body, whose own eyes were shriveled and the skin of whom was taught and dry. The body was, in fact, still leaking a bit.

"Fine Camille. A lot better than Mr. Personality here." He said dryly, gesturing toward the corpse. Cam had never been one for pleasantries with him before and he found it sort of annoying that she'd picked up the habit now, as if he was some small child that needed to be handled delicately.

Cam nodded but didn't believe. His sunken eyes and mussed hair said differently, but if he was even attempting jokes, it was probably safe for them to continue.

"Mr. Personality is a mid thirties to early forties Caucasian female." Zach began, straightening but never lifting his eyes to speak directly to any of the others. "She was found in a condemned building on Charleston yesterday." He said, recapping information most everyone already knew.

"That's a pretty rough neighborhood." Hodgins added, tweezers at ready as he scanned the clothing and flesh for any bugs he might collect.

"And a nice watch." Booth gestured his pen toward a Women's Rolex on the left arm. "Doesn't look like she belonged there."

Zach shook his head. "I don't believe she did. The nasal cavity shows bruising and microscopic fracturing consistent with something being pressed forcefully against the victim's face."

"There's a white powder and a few fibers, I might be able to identify them and give you some better specifics."

Booth nodded and Hodgins moved to the head of the table to get his samples.

"COD?" Booth stood stiffly, a few feet away from the skeleton writing Zach's observations and ignoring Cam's stares.

"It appears to be a compression of the Sternum and Thoracic Cage or a sharp, pointy instrument being thrust into the neck and separating the Coccyx and L1 vertebrae. I can't yet determine which one, or if both, were the cause of death."

Booth stopped writing and scowled. Biting back a comment about 'speaking English', he looked far over to his right.

From beside the Mass Spectrometer, Brennan gave him a small, sympathetic smile. Leaning against the platform guardrail, she seemed much more relaxed than he'd ever seen her. She lifted one of her folded arms to play with her long, dangly earring and light glinted across the dolphin about her waist. _"She was crushed to death. Or someone stabbed her in the spine. And for the record, he_ was _speaking english."_

He gave a small smile and nodded, before a voice worked it's way into his mind and he snapped his attention back to the task at hand.

"Seeley? Did you hear me? I said it means she was crushed to death…"

"Or she was stabbed in the back." He finished quickly, scribbling in his pad. "I-I know that Camille." He stuttered a bit, attempting to regain his composure. He glanced up and found his ex scrutinizing him in a way that made him want to straighten his tie. Stuffing his notebook into his coat pocket, he chanced a glance to his right and was almost disappointed to find the spot beside the Mass Spectrometer empty. But he was also partly relieved; maybe he wasn't completely insane.

"When can Angela have an ID for me?" He asked briskly. Cam raised her eyebrow, surprised at how quickly he managed to return to the job, as if he hadn't just spaced out on them for the better part of twenty seconds.

Hodgins cleared his throat. "I, um, she went home for the day. She wasn't ready to be back yet." He said quietly, his tone heavy.

Over his shoulder, Booth watched the light turn on in Brennan's office and for a moment, he thought he could hear the sound of Tibetan Throat Singers fill the lab.

A weight on his shoulder made him jump and he turned to see Cam, in all her ex-girlfriend turned good-friend glory, looking up at him with dark eyes full of worry.

"It's okay if you're not ready to be back yet either, Seeley."

He sighed and pulled away from her quickly. With false energy and determination he clapped his hands and moved toward the steps. "I'm fine Came. You guys let me know when you've got an ID."

With that, he was gone.

Cam let out a long breath and her shoulders slumped. "That went better than expected."

Hodgins gave her sidelong glance. "At least he didn't break any equipment this time." He said humorlessly. Cam nodded her agreement and they left Zach on the platform, all preparing to do the one thing they did best in difficult situations.

Work.

Safely in the car, Booth gripped the steering wheel so tight his hands were white and shaking. He was really coming to hate going in there, he'd never been overly fond of the bright, shiny, clean Jeffersonian Forensics lab, but now that Bones wasn't there, he really didn't see anything that was appealing about it at all.

"At least my microscopes are safe." Brennan muttered, looking out the window and fiddling with her grandmother's ring. Booth sighed and pulled out of the driveway, using the busy lunch hour traffic as an excuse not to respond right away.

"I told you, it was an accident." Booth said, his eyes not leaving the road out in front of them.

"Yeah. Like it was an accident you slammed the emergency room doctor at the hospital up against a wall?" She asked, trying to tease but failing miserably.

"They wouldn't tell me what I needed to know." He said simply.

_The emergency room wasn't always a three ring circus after a hay fire, he knew that. But why did it seem that only when he really needed information was there suddenly an influx of idiot citizens who'd tried to perform surgery on themselves?_

_To his credit, he'd tried 'excuse me'. But when no one in the busy room even looked up he started to get agitated. When he remembered that his white dress shirt was dyed dark brown with her blood he started to get upset. And when he recalled that he'd used his tie to try and wrap her head while he waited for the paramedics he got a bit angry, and when he remembered that they hadn't allowed him to ride in the ambulance with her, he just about lost it._

_A good sized man in a white coat and glasses started to brush past him, and Booth seized the opportunity. Grabbing the man by the lapels of his jacket, Booth whirled him around and slammed him up against the wall, holding him a few inches off the ground. Functioning on pure adrenalin, he held him up with one large hand and reached into the waistband of his pants for his badge with the other._

_"Now, is somebody going to tell me what I need to know or do I need to see who else I can decorate the wall with?"_

"Booth?"

He was pulled from his thoughts and chanced a glance in her direction. It seemed as though she could see right through him. Right through the anger and frustrations, straight to the fear he felt burning deep inside his chest. He didn't want to lose her.

"I'm sorry I'm not here Booth, but…please don't make my microscopes pay for it, okay?" The teasing tone was dampened a bit, but he appreciated her efforts anyway.

The closest thing to a smile his face had seen in nearly three weeks, slid across his lips and he gave a short nod of his head. Sitting at a stoplight, he leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

"I'm just not ready to let you go, Bones." He whispered, his chest tightening at the very thought.

"I know that, Booth." She shrugged and touched his hand. "That's why I'm still here."

_**It occurred to me that angst may not be the most...season-aly appropriate thing to be posting...unfortunatly. I have nothing else to give :( Well, hope you enjoy it anyway, and I hope you all enjoy your holiday and the time off that comes with it!**_


	8. I Already Have A Partner

**I can neither confirm nor deny that something bad will happen at the end of this fic. Writer's perogative you see, but I've written something like fourty-six fics here...don't you guys already know what I'm gonna do? LoL.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chap, but especially _mendenbar, TemperTemper, PurplePicklesUnite_ and _o0MissBennet0o _who have reviewed every chapter, and I think every fic of mine. ;P**

**And I would like to thank _redrider6612, trosiak, Bellabun,_ and _fanofbones_ for...well, you already know, don't you?

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_**wondering could you stay my love  
will you wake up by my side?**_

It probably wasn't healthy to lose himself this way, but then he'd never been very good at finding 'healthy' coping methods. Gambling for instance, worked well enough, but left him broke and homeless. There was also the drinking and the sex, both of which wreaked havoc on his body, not to mention his mind. At least this way his liver might outlive his next-door neighbors' dog, and while it didn't do him much in the 'relaxation' department, it wasn't like he was sleeping at all anyway.

He breathed out slowly and lowered his weapon, a flick of his wrist sending the empty cartridge to the ground as he scrutinized the paper target before him. Every single shot had pierced the smallest circle. He couldn't have been more perfect if he'd been standing ten feet in front of it.

Slowly his heartbeat and breathing returned to normal, his 'unnecessary' senses returned to operation and he relaxed his shoulders, allowing the soldier in himself to stand down. Sometimes it actually felt like a physical transformation, but he'd stopped being disturbed by it a long time ago. Sometimes his ability to turn himself off to the world was a welcome relief from the chaos his life had become.

From somewhere behind himself he heard someone calling his name. He turned to look, it was Rudy, an older agent who'd been with the agency probably as long as it had been around. "Booth, Cullen wants to see you in his office."

He gave a slight nod and re-holstered his gun, picked up his jacket from a chair behind him but didn't bother putting his tie back on. He was technically off duty.

Booth frowned at his boss' office door, it wasn't very common for Cullen to call him to his office, and most of the time it had been accompanied by a tongue lashing and direct orders to keep firearms away from his trigger-happy partner.

"Hey! I am not trigger-happy!" Her voice sounded appalled from somewhere over his left shoulder and he almost smiled.

"Sir?" Booth knocked slightly as he pushed the door open, "You wanted to see me?"

Cullen looked up from his desk and smiled slightly, while the expression would usually put Booth at ease, this time, it did not.

He tried to make himself comfortable in one of the chairs before Cullen's desk, but found it was impossible.

Cullen's gaze was steady and penetrating and it took all Booth's self control not to squirm. He was reminded once again that Cullen wasn't always a rider of the pine pony. He used to be an agent and seemed to have perfected that knowing-piercing gaze from a long time ago.

With a sigh, Cullen leaned back in his chair. "How are you doing Booth?"

Booth gritted his teeth, he was more than tired of that question.

"Fine sir, you?"

Cullen quirked his eyebrow, obviously not expecting the flip tone of the younger man's voice. "I've been better. How's…Parker?"

Booth shifted in his chair, adjusting his jacket and clasping his hands. "He's fine too sir. Listen I've got a case right now so, if we're all done here…" If all the director wanted to do was chat, he could find someone who wasn't trying to catch a murderer. Rising from his seat, Booth made a beeline for the door.

"I'm going to have to assign you a new partner."

That stopped him, dead in his tracks.

"Sir, no."

Cullen frowned and sat forward in his seat. "Did I give you the impression that this was up for debate?" He watched as Booth visibly counted to ten and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry sir but I really don't…"

"Booth." He said warningly.

"But sir!"

"End of discussion Booth. Don't argue with me on this, there isn't another option."

"Sir, I don't need a partner."

"All evidence to the contrary Agent Booth. I seem to remember Dr. Brennan saving your ass on more than one occasion."

Immediately Booth's whole demeanor changed and the way he clammed up was almost tangible. Casting his eyes toward the floor, Booth silently studied the diamond pattern of the muted blue and gold carpeting in Cullen's office, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

Cullen realized his mistake as the words left his mouth and watched one of his best agents, and the closest thing any of his subordinates were to being a friend, try and mask his hurt at hearing his former partner's name and mentally kicking himself for being insensitive. Maybe the 'tough love' approach wasn't what the young agent needed.

Sighing, he rose slowly from his seat and rounded his large oak desk, perching himself on the corner.

"How is Dr. Brennan, Booth?"

Booth cleared his throat, but the words still came out in a hoarse half-whisper. "She's…um," he shook his head, lifting his eyes to the window behind Cullen's desk. "She's not expected to make it. But she will." He added vehemently.

"Listen, Booth…if you need a few more days, you know I'll understand. No one will think less of you for…"

Booth could hear the coddling fatherly tone in his boss' voice and he barely restrained himself from getting up and walking right out of the office. That tone, and a new partner, were two things he just didn't need.

"Sir," He cut in, "I'm fine, but I don't need a new partner. I've got the squints and I've got a gun. I'm the best shot in the bureau, I don't _need_ a partner." He said, enunciating the last five words slowly, as if Cullen hadn't heard them the first eight times he said them.

Cullen sighed. Aside from being the best shot in the bureau, he was also probably the most stubborn. "Booth it's bureau policy for every agent to have a partner. You need someone to have your back in the field. You need someone to bounce ideas off of, you need someone…"

Cullen's voice droned on in the back of Booth's mind and he felt a wave of warmth in his veins that always accompanied her presence.

_"He's right you know Booth."_ She stood behind Cullen's shoulder, nosing around with papers on his desk. _"You do need a partner."_

Booth didn't respond, but when she glanced up she could read the protest in his eyes.

_"Booth, no one is going to try and take my place, okay? I'm your partner, no matter what. But the bureau has these rules for a reason, just like we have procedures at the Jeffersonian for a reason. It's for your own good. Besides, you need someone to fight over driving with."_ She used a soft tone he was sure he'd taught her to use when dealing with greiving families, and she smiled slightly when his tense shoulders relaxed, as if knowing she'd won their 'argument'. _"Now put your boss out of his misery."_

Booth took a deep breath and cut Cullen off mid lecture.

"Okay, I'll do it."

Pausing, a bit stunned by the sudden change of heart, he nodded. "Oh…okay. I'll send an agent over before the end of the day."

Booth nodded and rose from his seat, moving the exit the office as quickly as possible.

"And Booth."

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn around. "Sir?"

"I'm, um, I am sorry. I know how close you two were."

"Are. We _are_ close." His eyes flicked over Cullen's shoulder where Brennan wore a triumphant grin. "And thank you sir." _But you really have no idea._

**More to come...**


	9. Edges and Truth

**_Chugga Chugga Chugga Chugga...Choo Choo:-)

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_**No, she can't  
cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone.**_

"I think you should go talk to Angela."

The lab was dark and empty, a few emergency lights at the doors and desk lamps at security stations were all there was to illuminate the large space.

Booth had garnered himself a key to Brennan's office about a year after they became partners should he 'ever need to get a file and when she was unavailable'. Well, he didn't need any files…but he did need her office. He came her to relax on days like...well, on days like he'd been having. Days when he got into fights with lab equipment and squints and was assigned to be partnered with an agent as green and cocky as _he_ used to be. It was really a wonder anyone made it through days like these alive, and when they all miraculously did, Booth came here. He could almost hear her nimble fingers dancing across her keyboard and he could almost smell her dainty, understated perfume. And on days like these, almost was enough.

He sat back in her desk chair, rolling his dice between his palms, staring at her orderly cluttered desk, letting his mind wander for a while. When she spoke, he looked over at the couch to find Brennan stretched out on it, counting the ceiling tiles. He thought it funny to see her so relaxed, Bones was never not doing something.

"What?"

"I said you should go talk to Angela."

"I know what you said, why?" He rolled his shoulders and rubbed a hand through his hair.

Brennan bit her lip and looked thoughtfuly at the couch cushions, Booth watched her, deciding he probably should have told her more often how beautiful she was. Her eyes flicked over to him at this thought and he gave her a tiny smile so that she blushed.

Rolling her eyes, she sat up and folded her legs underneath her. "You and Ange are the two people I've ever…opened up to. The only two I truly, really call my best friends. Losing me…"

"You're not gone." He cut her off immediatly, "I wish people would stop acting like I've already lost you."

She pursed her lips, frowning at the floor, but didn't respond to his comment, instead continued with what she'd been saying. "This is hardest on you two. You need to support each other."

He licked his lips and seemed to think about it for a few moments, his eyes traveling over his partner's meticulous desk, three weeks worth of dust gathered on top. Wishing, believing that someday he would again see her through the glass, typing away on those very keys, lost in her world of bones. Hoping he would again someday get the chance to 'rescue her' from herself and drag her off to the Diner or Wong Fu's for a drink and a slice of pie.

His eyes came to the neat pile of manila folders on the right side of the glass desk and he sighed softly. Lifting one hand, he lay it on top, hoping maybe some of her determination and fire would leak out of them and into him. He seemed to be lacking those things these days.

"What?" Brennan asked, getting up and crossing the office toward him.

Booth smiled a lopsided grin but didn't look up. "You don't organize your files the way everyone else does."

"What are you talking about?" She leaned over the desk, her silver dolphin belt buckle banging against the glass top.

"Most people organize their files by month and year, or by name. You organize them by who's ass you want to kick most."

She looked appalled and came around beside him to get a better view. "I do not. I treat each case with the same amount of…"

Booth shook his head and moved a few files so she could see the names better. "Serial killers on top arranged from child crimes to hate crimes to rape crimes to just plain old creepy cult stuff. Then below that we've got the crimes of passion and the 'fleshies', Cam's kind. Then all the way on the bottom are the Civil War stiffs and anyone from more than a century ago."

He looked up with a self-satisfied grin, but she just crossed her arms, frowning deeply at the offending evidence of folders. Then, turning to him she did a pretty good imitation of pouting as she stalked back over to the couch, throwing over her shoulder, "What are you smiling about?"

---

At first glance Angela's apartment building was old and run down, but when one took a closer look, which Booth had a chance to do given the unbelievable amount of time it took her to answer the door, one got the feeling that the condition of the place was deliberate. Ugly burnt orange wallpaper had been torn off in places on the wall to reveal beautifully aged Victorian paper below. In some areas mid-eighties linoleum had been laid over, and then subsequently pulled up to reveal turn of the century Italian marble floors.

He smiled slightly when he saw the antique light fixtures in the ceiling side by side with cheap hardware store junk. This place had style and attitude, just like Angela.

Just then the door swung open revealing the tired artist wearing pink Capri pajama pants and a green slightly oversized '_I hate the term 'dirt'. Biological Studies Convention 200_5' t-shirt.

"Hey Booth, what are you…" She suddenly gasped, her eyes widening as she grabbed his arm in near panic, "Is everything okay? Is Brennan alright? I knew I never should have left the hospital." She suddenly turned, running back inside her apartment and snatching the keys of the table near the door.

Booth caught her mid-flight as she headed back out the door. "No, Angela everything's fine." He assured her quickly. Immediately her body began to relax and she pulled herself from his grip.

"Oh." Deep breath, "okay." She nodded, her right hand resting on her chest as she waited for her heartbeat to come back down. "Good. I, um, I just get so nervous, you know? The doctors keep saying…"

"Believe me, I know what they're saying." He sighed and settled on the couch, having invited himself in earlier.

Angela, still nodding and swallowing hard in an attempt to breathe normally, came to sit beside him, immediately wrapping up in a red afghan she pulled from a nearby plush suede chair.

"Do you want something to drink?" She asked absently, reaching to the end table to pick up a half empty bottle of Jim Bean.

Booth opened his mouth, caught the eye of Brennan standing near the fireplace mantle, and then closed it again. He shook his head.

"So," He began slowly, realizing that now that he was here…he really had no idea what he was doing here. "Where's…Hodgins?"

Angela motioned with her head down the hall. "He's in the den, there's some National Geographic Special on…bone eating beetles or…something." Her miniscule shrug and heavy sigh told him she really had about as much interest in bug shows right then as Booth had in Professional Ice Skating.

Brennan on the other hand, jerked her head up from a magazine at the mention of it and got that bright eyed, excited little girl look he loved. She 'oohhh'ed and made a beeline down the hall for the den.

"What?" Booth looked over to find Angela eyeing him, a partly confused, partly amused smile on her face. "What's so funny?"

He shook his head, running his thumb over the yellow poker chip that had somehow found it's way into his palm. "Just thinking…about Bones. She would've loved to see that show." He said hoarsely, meeting but immediately turning away from Angela's eyes.

Angela nodded, wordlessly passing him her drink. She smiled as he stared at it.

"Go on Booth, just a sip, it'll take the edge off." He raised his eyebrow at her and she returned the gesture. "And don't tell me you haven't got an edge, I could drop a piece of paper over you right now and it'd slice in two like butter."

To his annoyance a smile quirked his lips and so, with a small roll of his eyes, he took the glass, downing the rest of the liquid inside before Angela could make a sound of protest.

"Hey! I wanted that."

Booth shrugged, "You offered."

"I believe the exact words I used were 'just a sip'." She said, snatching the glass away with mock irritation. In response Booth raised and lowered his eyebrows and looked away, a smaller, smugger version of his cocky smile playing softly on his lips. He settled back into the couch and adjusted his coat to avoid meeting Angela's undoubtedly displeased gaze.

"Brennan used to hate that smile."

Booth looked up, surprised to see tears shining in Angela's eyes, where there had previously been teasing. Angela didnt' look up from where she was peeling the label on her bottle of Jim Bean.

"What smile?"

"The one you're wearing. You always wore it after you won an argument or did something she 'disapproved' of. She said when you wore it she couldn't stay mad at you. And she hated that."

Booth nodded and turned away again, closing his hand around the poker chip as the familiar, uncomfortable tight pain returned to his chest. He closed his eyes.

"Why are referring to her in the past tense?" He whispered hoarsely, hardly audible over the sound of a space heater and soft jazz music coming from somewhere in the room.

"I didn't…"

"Yes you did."

He heard her sigh heavily and shift around several times on the other end of the couch, but didn't open his eyes.

"I…" She began quietly, but couldn't seem to finish right away, tears and perhaps a bit of shame, evident in her voice. "I didn't mean to it's just…It's been three weeks, you know? And the doctors say she might never…"

"The doctors don't know Bones, Angela." He cut in abruptly; swallowing to rid himself of the tell-tale sobs working their way up from his aching heart. "They don't know her the way we do. So what if she's a vegetable? She's Bones, for Christ's sake! She'll come out of this. She has to. She's fought too long and too hard and she's too much of stubborn smart-ass to let this beat her. She doesn't want to die. She won't leave me."

The burning in his eyes must have blinded him for a moment because he never saw Angela move, or hear her place herself beside him, but suddenly her arms were around him, squeezing him for dear life.

She sobbed into his shoulder and he instinctively reached to hug her back. The afghan fell to the floor and her body shook violently, or perhaps it was him doing the shaking. Either way it hurt, pain like neither of them had ever known before and Booth tried to gasp for air and found there was for him to breathe in as one, solemn, silent question tore through him like the proverbial dagger to the heart.

What if hope and faith aren't enough this time?

**Thanks for the reviews, past, present and future...**


	10. Hellish

**If you saw the title of this chap, and you intend to read it, you'll see why it took me so long to write and post it. The girls at the ABY have been all over me for this so: TISSUE WARNING!!

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**_Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?  
Would you get them if I did? _**

It would be another week before Booth went back to the hospital. A week full of cases and paperwork and killers and squints. Another week of life without her. Another week of hell.

"Booth." A man with pale blue eyes and a black suit, Sparks, otherwise known as Booth's new partner, came waltzing into his office unannounced. Again. "I found the address on McKinley…"

"What did we saw about closed doors, Sparks?" Booth said, not looking up from the top of his desk.

With a slight roll of his pale eyes, which Booth pretended not to notice, he turned around and exited the office. Ceremoniously, he closed the door and knocked.

Booth waited until the door had clicked shut before quickly slipping the wrinkled and worn photograph he'd been looking at back into his top desk door. Sparks knocked a second, more persistent time, and Booth rolled his shoulders, attempting to loose his temper a bit before letting the young agent back in.

"Come in, Sparks."

The man burst in the door, his plain blue and white stripped tie flapping behind him.

"I got the address…"

"On McKinley. Yeah, I know." He held out his hand for the file, which Sparks reluctantly handed over. "I'm going to go check him out, I want you to go get an update on the squints' progress with the body."

Sparks' jaw tensed and he attempted to hide a frustrated sigh. "With all due respect, Agent Booth, I'm not a babysitter."

Booth raised an eyebrow, dropping the file onto his desk, he stood and put his hands on his hips. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Agent Sparks?"

Sparks licked his lips, flipping his longish black hair out of his face and took a deep breath.He didn't easily intimidate, but Agent Booth had a large, obvious chip on his shoulder and he'd learned to tread carefully with his new partner. But enough was enough, he couldn't stand idly by and let, what he felt was a sore injustice, continue to go on without saying anything.

"You have taken me on witness interviews only twice since we became partners last week. Every other time you send me to get updates from the squints and then you go alone. I'm a full fledged Agent, sir, just like you. I can handle talking to witnesses, you don't need to reduce me to the babysitter for those condescending, self-righteous, glorified morticians." He winced a bit as he finished, his temper having gotten the better of him.

Booth's face darkened, and he dipped his chin as he spoke. "You're concern is duely noted Sparks, but I'm gonna say this one time, so listen carefully. Those 'condescending, self-righteous glorified morticians' have helped this bureau solve more crimes in a single year, than every single police department on the east coast combined. You can learn a lot from them, if you're smart enough to listen. And you'll join me in the field when I say you're ready, you got that?"

Sparks took a deep breath and threw back his shoulders, indignant but realizing arguing was useless and possibly dangerous to his person.

"Fine. I'll see you in a few hours." He turned to leave when Booth called him back.

"The rules, Sparks?"

"Booth…" He started. After his first, less than stellar interaction with the squints, which had resulted in the near disbanding of the FBI-Jeffersonian partnership, Booth had created a list of guidelines for the young agent to follow whenever he was to interact with the squints.

"Don't start with me, Sparks."

With a heavy sigh, the young agent mumbled his reply. "Be nice to Angela and knock before going into her office. Don't listen to any of Dr. Hodgins' conspiracy theories and don't engage him in conversations about the government. Don't tell Cam anything if she asks about you…"

"And she will ask about me."

"And don't take anything Dr. Addy says personally, he knows bones, not people."

When Sparks was gone, Booth set aside the file he'd been given and sighed. This was their only active case, all the paperwork was done, and Booth had a feeling their one lead was going to turn out to be a dead end, unless the squints pulled a miracle out of their microscopes. He rubbed his face and grabbed his jacket. There was no avoiding it. After interviewing McKinely, he would go and see her tonight.

It seemed to him that, after an entire week of not seeing her, there should be some change. A change for the better, a change for the worse…preferably better, but _some_ change would certainly seem appropriate. He'd also somehow expected to see some evidence of his absence. Different flowers in her room or fewer machines near the bed. A better, warmer shade of skin at the very least.

But there was nothing. No change whatsoever.

She still looked small and sick and weak, as if she was suspended here in time, in this hospital. Just waiting until...

He walked across the room to stand beside her and gently brushed the hair from her forehead. It was dark outside and the yellow light over her bd was the only illumination in the room. He shed his suit jacket and gun holster, tossing them on the couch by the wall as he made himself comfortable in a plastic chair beside her.

He stared at her for a long time then, caught somewhere between reminiscing and just plain missing her. Unconsciously he'd found her hand and was squeezing it and rubbing circles across the back in turn, and somewhere in the recessus of his mind he was praying that she would squeeze him back when he did so.

"I hate seeing you like this." He whispered, tears he'd grown used to, and was now pretty adept at ignoring, gathered quickly in his eyes. "This is everything you're not. Dependent. Fragile." He gritted his teeth, staring at the heart monitor as he shook his head. "I hate it."

He looked down at the bedspread, sniffing quietly and gathering his composure. "Hey, you remember that time…when you, uh, when you beat up that gang leader? Never could back down from a fight, could you?" He smiled sadly, looking at her as if she would respond. "Or how about that time when you stole the bones from that Chinese couples' house? And Vegas? You remember Vegas don't you?" He squeezed her hand again, only slightly less dissapointed when it remained limp.

"I do remember Booth."

His eyes snapped over to where the voice had come from and Brennan emerged from the shadows near the wall. She looked at him, something like sadness in her eyes. "I remember everything."

Booth nodded, returning his attention to the Brennan in the bed. "I haven't seen you around lately." He said quietly, and in the corner of his eye he saw her nod her head and sit in the chair on the other side of the bed.

"I know, you've been busy. You haven't really had time for me."

"I know. I'm sorry." He said guiltily, "Big case."

Brennan nodded. "You know Booth, too much alcohol, or too much work…either way it's still 'too much'. And it's still just avoiding."

Booth didn't look up, and his posture screamed 'defensive'. Frowning thoughtfully, she clasped her hands and leaned her elbows on her knees.

"Don't abandon the squints Booth."

He looked up, tightening his grip on Brennan's hand. "What are you talking about?"

She dipped her chin and raised an eyebrow. "Don't play dumb with me. You know exactly what I'm talking about, Booth and you have to stop. Angela, Jack, Zack…they all need you. You're still the center Booth, remember? The center must hold." She said urgently. "Don't make them go through this without you. And don't you even _think_ about trying to go through it alone. You need them as much as they need you."

He licked his lips and nodded, but didn't respond. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to admit out loud how much excruciating pain he was in every time he walked into the Jeffersonian or The Diner or unlocked his SUV knowing she wouldn't be on the other side of the door? Was he really supposed to tell her how terrified he was of losing her?

"I know you're scared Booth." She whispered, and this time he didn't even nod, afraid if he even breathed the tears would fall, "I'm scared too. But I'm tired Booth…so tired of fighting."

He remained motionless and she reached across the bed toward him. "You have to let me go Booth, please."

"Stop it." He pleaded suddenly, almost begging, "Bones, you can fight this. I know you can."

"Booth…" She shook her head and looked down, tears dripping off the end of her nose.

"Don't ask me to do this, Bones. Don't ask me to let you go. Please don't."

She was silent for a long time before whispering, "I miss my mother."

He was taken aback for a moment and didn't speak.

"I want to see my mother again."

"You don't believe in an afterlife." He said, finally.

"I know," she said nodding and looked up, "But you do. Don't you think I'll go to heaven, Booth?"

He held his breath, closing his eyes slowly as he turned to look again at the woman lying in the bed. Laying a gentle hand on her cheek, he said, "Bones, I don't think it can even _be_ heaven until you're there."

She smiled and reached across the bed, laying her warm hand over his. "Thank you Booth."

He bit his lip, "Hey, promise me something?"

She raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Anything."

"Promise me you'll…you'll wait for me at the gates? If I make it, promise me you'll be the first thing I see?" He searched her eyes as he waited for her to answer.

She touched his hand and he could feel the warmth coming off her. She squeezed it as she said, "I promise, Booth. I'll never break a promise to you again."

He nodded and closed his eyes to the sight of her fading away, tears dripping silently onto the front of his blue shirt. Three words faught their way up his throught and through his lips on a hoarse whisper, but he didn't notice them as he slowly kissed the back of her hand. He'd never know if it was by accident or design, but in that very moment the beeping heart monitor flat lined and the room swarmed with frantic nurses and doctors.

He rose from his chair and stumbled on unsteady feet for the doors, pushing past the doctors, trying to get outside the room, only to find himself in a vaccum. Light blurred and brightened, as if he was opening his eyes for the first time. His ears suddenly seemed plugged, and though he was sure there was someone talking to him, he couldn't tell what was being said. His heart thumped hard in his chest, beating rapidly on his ribs and he reached for the wall as his lungs heaved and burned, crying out for air that would not come. Fists born of anguish and fury slammed against the wall as he fell more than leaned against it, his eyes screwed shut as he wept openly.

He wasn't sure if it was in his head or his heart, but he heard himself say the words, "I love you."

And in the chaos, he could've sworn he heard someone whisper back, "I know."

**Jeez, I think a little peice of me died just writing that. The angst train just switched to a whole new, ugly track, huh guys? You still with me for one more chap?**


	11. Epilogue: Letting Go is the Hardest Part

**_Okay well, I completely expected the reaction I got to the last chap. Many of you wrote me to tell me I made you cry (which gives me a strange sense of satisfaction I must admit, but only a little cuz I feel real bad about that too) and I also think I ruined a lot of people's new years resolutions because so many spoke of needing chocolate after the chap. But I was surprised at how many of you guys think I'm totally heartless, at least two of you are expecting suicide from Booth. Holy smokes guys, I'm not the Wicked Witch of the West Side! lol._**

**_And A2B: No basement windows for you. POLO._**

**_

* * *

_**

**_No, you won't  
Cause you're gone, gone, gone, gone, gone._**

Booth sat completely still on his couch in the living room. The apartment seemed dark and empty without her and he'd given up on reminding himself she was really never there in the first place. It didn't change how strange everything seemed now that she was gone. Really truely gone.

He looked up from where he'd been staring at the floor, and was surprised to find it was well past sunrise and light was filtering in his living room window.

A knock at the door was apparently what brought him out of his reverie, because it sounded again and he looked over. Long dark shadows were cast across the floor and he watched them shorten with each passing moment, he didn't seem to have energy for much of anything else. Just breathing felt like a chore.

He must have said something, because a moment later the door opened and Hodgins poked his head in. Booth flicked his gaze at him and then looked away again and it was enough of an invitatoin for Jack.

He shut and locked the door, shoving his hands in his pockets and wandering the room quietly for a while before he felt comfortable enough to join his friend on the couch. "Hey man."

He knew better than to ask how Booth was doing, that was one of the things that had spurred their heated argument in the lab the week before. It seemed like ages ago now.

Sighing, he removed his skullcap and scratched his beard as he spoke, satisfying Booth's inquisitive nature without making him ask the questions. "Angela sent me over. Her sister is staying with her so, she wanted to make sure you were…you know, alright." He finished awkwardly.

Booth nodded, appreciating the sentiment but unsure of how to react to it.

Taking a deep breath, he closed and rubbed his eyes. "Thanks, but I'm...I'm gonna be fine." His voice seemed strange to his own ears, but he paid it no mind. Nor did he notice how easily the lie slid off his tounge.

Jack's eyes made his skin tingle as they studied him with the intensity and focus only a true squint could muster. "Really, man? Because it's alright if you're not."

Booth looked at him and then away again, deciding he no longer wanted to participate in that line of questioning. "What time is the funeral, again?"

"Two."

Booth nodded and took another deep breath. He'd been doing that a lot lately. "Wanna watch the game?"

Jack hesitated and then nodded. He wasn't really a big fan of football, but something told him Booth wasn't either in that moment. In fact, if Hodgins was forced to venture a guess, he'd say, the man just didn't like the silence, and he didn't want to be alone.

So they watched the game.

---

The weather refused to cooperate with the gloomy mood of the funeral and instead decided to shine bright and warm down on the sad event.

The small gathering was made up of no more than a dozen of Brennan's closest friends and Russ and her father, who'd been let out on a one day pass for his daugher's funeral provided he be accompanied by two armed guards. Since all knew what Bennan would have said had they even suggested having a priest at the funeral, they instead took turns recalling a favorite memory of the woman they'd all loved more than they knew how to express.

Some memories brought on tears of sadness, "...we cried a little, and then we hugged. We've been best friends ever since..."

Some mixed the tears with laughter, "...and I, of course, had to rub it in. I mean, how often does a guy get to be right when he has a certifiable genius for a little sister?.."

Then, one by one, each approached the mahogany box, whispering something as tears traced the lines on their faces, hoping against hope that she'd been wrong about the afterlife. That of all things she'd ever gotten right, she could be wrong just this once. Except Booth, he layed a palm against the smooth, shiny wood but his lips never moved. It felt wrong to speak to her when she wan't going to answer back, because this time he had no doubt that she wouldn't. Without a word, he returned to his spot at the outer circle and eventually, the small gathering began to disperse.

He felt a hand slip into his and squeeze, he turned to see where it had come from when two arms were thrown around his neck, and a face pressed into his jacket. he could tell by the black curls falling across her shoulders that it was Angela. After a moment, she gave him a tight squeeze and took a step back, Hodgins' arm immediatly circling her hip and pulling her close. She clung to him for life.

"Hey." She sniffed and made a weak attempt at a smile. "You call or stop by if you ever need anything, alright FBI? Anything."

Booth nodded and held her gaze, doing his best to hide empty eyes behind a thankful smile.

"Likewise."

The others left and soon the sound of dry rustling leaves and silence were his only compainions. And still he stood, staring at the headstone of one 'Dr. Temperance Brennan (Bones)'.

"I'm glad they included the 'Bones' part. You'll have to remember to thank Russ and Dad for me."

Booth didn't look up, didn't need to. He knew she was there beside him, sans coat again.

"I thought you were gone." He muttered in a voice, hoarse from crying and cursing the sky.

She nodded, pushing her hair behind her ears, both their eyes trained on the headstone.

"I was, I just came back…to say 'goodbye'." She turned toward him then, eyes glassy and warm. "Goodbye, Booth."

He shook his head. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Live Booth." She said quietly, "Maybe not today or tomorrow. But at some point, you're going to have to start to live again."

"I don't know if I can."

He closed his eyes as she touched his hand. "I do Booth. You can, and you will. Promise me."

He grit his teeth against the trembeling and opened his eyes slowly, so as not to cause the moisture collecting in them to fall. He managed to choke out two words. "I promise."

She nodded, releasing his hand. "I'm going to miss you Booth"

He held his breath, tears prickling at him all over again and he fisted his hands in his pockets.

"I already miss you, Bones." It was barely audible, but she heard him anyway. Leaning forward, she closed her eyes and pressed the gentlest of butterfly light kisses against his cheek.

"I love you too."

He didn't look up or look around to see where the voice had come from. She'd gone, and she was never coming back.

He would go back to work on Monday. And it would be hell. He would work with his new partner and he would get a new case, and he would go on. And it would be hell. He would go to the Jeffersonian and someday, someone else would have her office. That was going to be a living hell. But there was a bright side. One day, way down the line, further than he was capable of seeing on a cold, hellish day in December, it would get better. he knew, one day, it wouldn't be such hell.

Kneeling in the snow, heart racing and hands trembling, Booth reached out and traced the script letters of her epitaph etched in limestone for all of eternity.

_We are, all of us, connected._

And he smiled.

_**When you're dreaming with a broken heart  
the waking up is the hardest part.**_

END

**I know a few of you were still hoping for a miracle, but I just couldn't do it. I know it seems harsh and cruel, but life is harsh and cruel sometimes and it takes no prisoners. Some might say 'this if fanfic, not life' I know. Sorry about that. I've got an angsty streak a country mile wide. But, while I do feel bad for killing Brennan, I went ahead and did it because I know Booth better than anybody on the show. Booth is strong, he's a survivor. And I know he can take it. Well I hope you enjoyed your ride on this angsty little locomotive (at least on some level) and hopefully, I'll see you guys again someday, perhaps even on a decidedly fluffier train...**


End file.
